


I'm Not Afraid Anymore

by timidcat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Childhood, Children, Creepy, Creepy Fluff, Gen, Horror, Innocence, Needles, Short, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timidcat/pseuds/timidcat
Summary: A short story about an odd little girl and her fear of needles.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	I'm Not Afraid Anymore

I hated doctors. I hated everything to do with the white room that smelled of a twisted type of toothpaste. The waiting area wasn't any better; filled with many other children just as scared as me. Some begged, “Please mummy please! I don't care if I get sick!" Some cried and babbled nonsensically, some waited in their parents' laps shivering with pasty white faces, red noses and teary eyes.

I was so over the begging part, spent a good twelve hours bawling on the kitchen floor and throwing a tantrum. Now I was waiting with the other children, oblivious to the comforting whispers of my mother.

Each time the children entered through the ominous door that was always opened by a cheerful doctor. And each time a snivelling child came back out gripping their parents' hand. Sometimes the thick door couldn't drown out the wailing. Doctors were like clowns to me. I knew them both to be actors that wanted a specific reaction out of you. Lying liars who lied. 

I remembered the time when I was five and had just woken up from tonsil surgery, crying and in pain. They brought in the clown doctor. A fuzzy rainbow afro, face paint, and dressed in a white labcoat. The opposing roles mashed into one figure, and that inhuman face smiling and coming close terrified me. And the painkillers made me to groggy to run away.

But I tried to bring myself to the present. This was not tonsil surgery. And I could run away.

At last it was my turn. I hesitantly shuffled into the room with my mother, a white, sterile room with some slivers of light blue and metal grey. After a sickly sweet greeting the grown ups began talking about complicated things, long words I couldn't yet grasp and concepts I couldn't understand. The whole time my eyes drifted to the carefully displayed tools on the table. Like the tools in the garage I knew they were used to fix things, except I knew that cars couldn't feel pain. I wished I was a car right then. The tools certainly seemed suited for one.

But I couldn’t see the needle that would pierce the flesh and muscle of my arm.

Yes they had been careful not to display it, and drew it out carefully from a drawer.

The dreaded moment came and the balding doctor told me, "It will only hurt a little. Like someone just pinched you. I'm sure another girl in your class has pinched you at some point. Not that bad right?" The doctor tore the plastic that wrapped the needle. Boy had I heard that speech before, right before a fiery pain would erupt from my right arm and would last for minutes afterwards until it formed a bruise.

I nodded in understanding. However, when he came to grab my left arm my natural instinct made me jerk away. My fear took over again and I cried for them to stop. My mother forced me to sit still in the chair. "Stop moving or it will hurt even more!" the doctor warned. I forced myself to relax knowing I wouldn't get out of this. "Try to count the blue monkeys on the ceiling and don't look away." he advised.

And I did. I made it up to five blue monkeys before the needle stabbed and slunk its way into my arm muscle. I lost my concentration and wailed pathetically, making the big mistake of tearing my eyes away from the ceiling. I cried harder as I saw the needle buried in my arm. The tears ran down my red face like hot knives. I was weak and I knew it.

The pain lingered, and the Hello Kitty plaster couldn’t take that away. I moped all the way home, not ready to dread when I would have to get another one.

Later that day I was in my bedroom reading a book about fairies to calm my nerves when I heard arguing. My parents didn't argue often, but when they did it was about me. So I sneaked downstairs and pressed myself against the doorway to the kitchen where they couldn't see.

"Honestly Mark, I talk to the other mums and their children don't make such a fuss."

"She'll grow out of it soon just like everyone else."

"I do hope so. I don't fancy dealing with this much longer. And the government keeps giving out more immunity boosters every year."

"It's to keep the kids safe you know."

"Ha! As if they understand. You heard Rosie. 'I don't care if I get sick! I don't care if I die!' The silly things children say."

I knew then that I was a disappointment to them. I thought, if only I could get over it, get used to it. Like how you get used to the cold water when you really want to go swimming in May. That's when a lightbulb flickered in my head.

I knew that next week I was having another one. They didn't admit it but they couldn't hide the note on the calendar which I saw by clambering up a chair as usual.  
So the night before doomsday I snuck into the storage room to get out my mother's sewing box.

I just needed one needle.

The next day daddy offered to take me thinking I would behave better. It didn't really matter, I wasn't scared anymore!

My father gave me some amused looks at my cheerful attitude. The poor soul attributed it to the promise to buy me cake after the ordeal.

It was my turn again and I didn't even flinch when the doctor pulled up my sleeve. I didn't flinch but the doctor did, in addition to taking a harsh breath of shock.

"What's wrong?" I wondered out aloud.

"Oh my God......" dad gasped. "Rosie what- What did you do to your arm?!"

He took my arm from the doctor to inspect the multitude of tiny, bloody holes the size of a pin. The light squeezes caused coppery drops to ooze out.

"I hurt it so I won't be afraid of needles anymore. See? I'm not afraid.” My confidence and pride did not change the horrified faces staring down at me. "Did I do something wrong?" I asked innocently.

Now that I think about it, I was a bit of an odd child.


End file.
